


Burst of Colours

by daeguandbusan



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Short Drabble, jicheol being abstract af
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-26
Updated: 2016-11-26
Packaged: 2018-09-02 09:41:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8662612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daeguandbusan/pseuds/daeguandbusan
Summary: When Seungcheol could only see layers upon layers of coloursand how Jihoon was the only colour he needed in his life.It could be black and white for all that he cares,but he had Jihoon. That's more than enough.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is a really short drabble which came to mind when I was going thru the jicheol tag.  
> It seemed that many of the jicheol shippers I know were (still are?) experiencing jicheol-drought  
> (a state of bareness when lacking of jicheol updates)  
> so I decided to make a fluffy drabble to at least cheer them up a little.
> 
> WARNING: Unbeta-ed. Sorry for any grammatical mistakes if you were to stumble upon any.

Colours are magical to Seungcheol.

 

From pastel to earth, white to black, every colour has its charm. A beauty that is meant to be explored. How the leaves turn red when its autumn, or how the sky shifts to black when the night falls. Both mobile and immobile objects existed on earth are painted with colour, reaching into all nooks and crannies - from the highest point beyond the fluffy white clouds, down to the brown course dirt beneath our feet.

 

To Seungcheol, Earth was a vivid paradise of its own.

 

At five, he realised he was more than capable to distinguish between 'amaranth pink' and 'charm pink', or 'navy blue' and 'midnight blue' when he had to draw a portrait of his teacher for Teachers' Day - all persistent in finding the correct shade of his teacher's favourite flowers. His parents who could not even tell the difference were convinced their child was a prodigy of some sort. But as he grew older, prodigy or not, he was grateful enough to be growing in such a vibrant world.

 

Seungcheol was convinced he had seen every possible shades and hues.

 

Or so he thought.

 

The then black-haired Seungcheol was sixteen when he suddenly saw a burst of colours in a single person, its small body soaked in endless hues. Lee Jihoon was the name and eventually, it stuck on his tongue as he chanted 'Jihoon' again and again, calling for the boy more often than not.

 

Because Jihoon was a beautiful masterpiece and Seungcheol was taught to appreciate art.

 

So he did.

 

The elder tried to remember every stroke, every curve belonged to Jihoon. The dip to his dimples, the bump along his knuckles. He drew the image in his head, all tucked in his brain, both conscious and non. Just so he could still see Jihoon in his sleep, let alone when he's awake. To an extent Seungcheol had learned to memorise the boy's frequent change of hair, as if it was seasonal; but Seungcheol did not mind.

 

Because every season had a colour of its own and Seungcheol was sure Jihoon had his too.

 

He still remembered how at first it was black, then pink, and purple was next then came along several others, both bright and dark. Until Jihoon settled for light brown - and Seungcheol wondered how his hair still looked majestic even after all that abuse. Especially to his roots and scalp.

 

Though the infamous pink that belonged to Jihoon and only Jihoon never left. It settled for his cheeks next, only to bloom darker whenever Seungcheol captured the equally pink lips in his, a splash of rainbow then appeared behind closed eyes. Skin as pale as the white snow, the perfect canvas to draw on, and just like his previous works, Seungcheol drew whatever story he wished to tell. And the next morning to a particular night, the formerly blank piece was perfectly covered with small splotches. Mostly were a mix of faint red and purple, the painting screamed "mine, mine and only mine".

 

Jihoon was not happy knowing how long it would take to cover up, given he only had 2 hours to get ready for a stage. Yet Seungcheol couldn't shed the smile off his face, particularly when a hint of purple peeked under Jihoon's top as the latter sang his part of the song. A colour that belonged to him, his and only his.

 

No one could ever take Jihoon away from him.

 

And even though art was meant to be shared, he could never do so with Jihoon. Each time a compliment was thrown in Jihoon's direction, he would revert back to the 4 year-old Seungcheol, one who had a box of newly bought crayons tightly gripped in his hands.

 

"Hyung."

 

"Y-yeah?" Seungcheol exhaled, eyes now locked on Jihoon's artificial grey eyes. He preferred the originally black pupils over the contacts, because black was Jihoon's and he loved every shade to Jihoon. However, it didn't mean Seungcheol hated the grey on him. Jihoon was perfect regardless of any colour on him.

 

"You're staring."

 

"O-oh. Sorry."

 

The boy next to him then laughed, the beautiful kind which radiated with glow of yellow and orange, equivalent to a sunset - yet way better, "you know, I did catch you staring at me multiple times when you think I wasn't looking. Why?"

 

Seungcheol stilled as thousands of colours washed upon him in one big motion, simultaneously blurring his vision. For he could only see Jihoon in a mess of colours, and honestly? He didn't know how to answer when colours specifically couldn't be explained in words (try and explain 'red' without pointing to an object with said colour) and words themselves had never been enough to tell Jihoon what he truly felt.

 

So he told the younger the truth.

 

"Because you are magical. A burst of colours."

 

And Jihoon didn't even ask what Seungcheol had meant as he leaned in for a kiss. Because he too saw them in Seungcheol.

 

A burst of beautiful colours.


End file.
